


The Perfect Accoutrements

by linearoundmythoughts



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bottoming from the Top, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Clothed Sex, Cufflinks, Edward Nygma doesn't know a damned thing my friends BUT at least he's willing to try!, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, I think that's other people explain this, Kissing, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Riding, Rutting, Smoking, Smut, Suit Kink, Suit Porn, The Softest TM, The first step to getting better at tagging fics is to have fun, Tie Kink, Topping from the Bottom, and goodness how could I forget, literally begging for it, really everything you need to have a good morning in the Cobblepot/Nygma household, shhhh it's /their/ house they will realize this soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9388661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linearoundmythoughts/pseuds/linearoundmythoughts
Summary: Ed's been struggling to deal with the unexpected growing tension between him and Oswald as they keep up the routine of going through Oswald's morning dressing sessions together. He's been dealing with it by doing his duties and then running away, only considering the implications of what was happening in the privacy of his own mind. It's not helping.Direct sequel toThe Finishing Touchesbut can stand alone.





	

Another day, another morning dressing routine Ed needed to assist Oswald with.

It had been almost a week since Ed had learned how to apply Oswald’s eye makeup. In Ed’s dreams, he still helped Oswald with the application of it every morning, kneeling before his boss, enjoying the level of concentration it took to still his hands and draw a sure line above Oswald’s eyelashes, Oswald’s breath warm on his wrist as he worked. The reality was less enticing: he just stood in front of Oswald and handed him various tubes of makeup at his request while he applied it himself.

It had also been a week since his failed attempt to tie Oswald’s tie, and Ed had been deeply analyzing just why he _ran_ from Oswald every time he wanted to—to _touch_ him. There had to be a rational explanation for his confusion, Ed told himself. And last night, in a fit of sleeplessness, he zeroed his mind in on each step of their morning routine, looking for clues as to what was troubling him.

In retrospect, that had probably been a mistake.

Ed could barely stand to watch Oswald do up his cufflinks today with the memory of his fantasy from last night still all too vivid in his mind. Why this was such a fixation of his was beyond him; there was nothing inherently sexual about watching it at all, though the fast, sure moments of Oswald’s strong hands were certainly reminiscent of _other_ fantasies Ed had had about him, about his hands….

Exhaling shakily, hands pressed to his abdomen, Ed tried to calm himself down. Oswald finished with the right cuff and was on to the left, preening in front of the mirror, his movements so certain and clearly embedded in muscle memory, he didn’t have to watch what he was doing or look down once. Surely Oswald would look a lover straight in the eyes, too, an unwavering stare as he undid them with those swift hands—

Tugging at his collar, Ed’s breathing shook as he struggled to think about anything else. He took a few quick steps around Oswald, hoping to redirect his focus (and blood flow) anywhere else than where his treacherous body had plotted. He should never have indulged those fantasies, should never have crossed that line in his mind, should never have assumed that it might relieve tension and not just make the situation worse.

Reaching forward to pick some speck off Oswald’s shoulder that Ed wasn’t even sure was really there, his hand faltered as he realized that if he touched Oswald, if he actually even brushed a finger against him in this precarious moment, he wasn’t sure what might happen afterwards. What embarrassing thing might result from his carelessness, from his messy thoughts?

Oswald finished fixing his cufflinks and stood up, back straight, to pull his suit down by the sharp V-shape edges where it met his waist. He huffed, looking at his reflection in the mirror, his grip on his coat so firm that Ed could focus on nothing but how the muscles and bones moved, his knuckles going white, the rough skin of his hands almost flush in comparison.

He flexed his wrists away from himself, still holding onto the coat, and Ed was hyper-fixated on his every moment.

“These just aren’t right,” Oswald said to his own reflection. His gaze shifted from himself and wandered in the general direction he expected Ed to be in. “Can you get me the silver ones out of the drawer?”

Ed swallowed, nodding his assent before he had even consciously decided to. He went to get what was requested, but he couldn’t bring himself to complete the task. He didn’t think he could watch Oswald’s hands _move_ like that twice in one day.

“I think they look…exquisite,” Ed offered, now clutching his vest, trying to get a grip on the storm of sensation and _desire_ fighting inside of him. “I—I have to go,” he stammered, self-preservation instinct kicking in. The thought of letting Oswald down made him feel downright sick with disappointment, but he couldn’t handle being here right now, and needed an escape.

At the first sign of his departure, however, Oswald spun, as if expecting it, and grabbed him by the wrist, _hard._ Ed couldn’t jerk away. Panic coursed through him; what had he done _wrong_ , what had he done to—

Oswald studied Ed’s face—was he giving himself away?—and let go of his tight grip on Ed’s wrist immediately, but kept his fingers circled around Ed’s wrist. Ed’s arm was bent, between them both, at eye level with Oswald, inches from Ed’s chest.

“Ed, I am so sorry, I did not mean to, I just, please stay,” he begged, eyes cast down at Ed’s chest, only letting his fingers drift along Ed’s skin, rubbing softly where he had pushed down too tightly. Ed felt as if his thoughts dislodged from himself as he watched how gently Oswald checked his wrist for any damage. “You always… _run away from me_ the last few mornings and I can’t begin to understand _why;_ I’ve tried, but I must admit I’m at a loss…”

The fact that Oswald’s hand—his hand!—was wrapped around Ed killed any rationality he had left. What had been a reminder of something frightening was to Ed now the epiphany of an unexpected _thrill_. Oswald wouldn’t hurt him, he reminded himself. Oswald would never hurt him that way. The safety in Oswald’s brashness, his possessiveness, made Ed clench his eyes shut as he tried to process.

“I need you to do it,” Ed whispered, eyes still closed.

“What, Ed? Anything, anything for you,” Oswald reassured him, his breath hot on Ed’s skin.

“I need to…know something,” Ed explained, breathing in and out of his mouth, “but I need you to do it, because I don’t have the courage.”

“Do what?” Oswald asked, sliding his hand up into Ed’s, tentatively looping their fingers between each other. _Did Oswald know what he was doing right now?_ Ed wondered.

He opened his eyes, looked down at Oswald, pleading and longing too intertwined with his current state to be rid of them, to perform anything else but how he authentically felt.

“Please kiss me.”

Gaping, Oswald blinked and looked around, as if an unexpected answer to what was going on might show up. When no out appeared, he undid his hand from Ed’s, grabbed him fast by the tie, hand shaking, and lowered Ed down to his height. Surging up on tip-toes, he balanced a hand on Ed’s shoulder to close the distance and kiss Ed, with the self-assurance and determination Ed could only expected from Oswald. It was exactly what he had imagined, and more. He swayed, bending his head more to meet Oswald’s lips.

Oswald’s kiss was tight-lipped, intense, _focused._ Ed opened his lips the slightest bit in response; he still didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing and he was distracted by how his skin felt like it was buzzing all over, a low ripple-wave sliding across every inch of him. His grasp on the present moment slipped away from him, as the world melted down into the touch of Oswald on him, under him.

This—this proved it. This was the answer he’d sought, been unsure of but now had solved.

Before Ed could do much to react, Oswald stopped kissing him, dropping back down out of his perch to normal height. He pulled away from Ed, loosening the tight hold on his vest. Eyes unfocused and staring straight ahead, not at Ed, but as if _into_ him, Oswald inhaled, breath ragged. “I…I am sorry; I shouldn’t have done that. Are you sure you—”

Ed surged forward, no longer lost in his own mind. He slid his arms around Oswald, bent down, lowering his neck as much as he could. Oswald gasped as Ed pushed himself against him, carding his hand through the back of Oswald’s hair to lift his head up and kiss him back. The silk of his suit was so smooth under Ed’s hand; the crisp texture of his styled hair crackled as it made way for Ed’s fingers.

He held nothing back this time; he had no reason to, had no strength left with which to withdraw himself from sating his longing, anyway. Dipping into the kiss, he cradled Oswald close as he dragged his body against his own by the back of his suit. Ed twisted, bending himself to fit against Oswald as he deepened the kiss, closing his eyes as he moved against Oswald.

Is this how it felt when he didn’t kiss back the first time? Was Oswald trying to teach him a lesson? Ed felt miserable with how desperate he was; he hadn’t meant to hesitate, he needed a moment to process and think—was this a way of—

Oswald sucked Ed’s lower lip into his mouth and grabbed the back of Ed’s vest forcefully, dragging Ed closer down to him impatiently. Ed moaned in shock, in _pleasure_ , and they quickly worked out a pace that fit them both, only parting to breathe the same hot air quickly, before diving back into each other. Ed licked into Oswald’s mouth, making him groan and press Ed flush against himself, the balancing push-pull of their embrace, the forceful exchange of it acting as the only thing keeping them both on their feet.

This was beyond anything Ed had envisioned; outdid any of the few other kisses in his lifetime. Oswald was so _strong—_ Ed should’ve expected that but it still caught him by surprise to actually get to experience it. He slotted his mouth sideways, trying to claim _more_ of Oswald (it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t _enough_ ) as he tipped Oswald’s head back further, tilting it, pulling him closer still and—

“Ahhh!” Oswald howled, almost crumpling in Ed’s arms. His face was—he was in pain, wasn’t he? That wasn’t a good face.

“Oswald!” Ed scrambled to figure out what was wrong. How had he hurt him, what had he done wrong? Oswald leaned all his weight on Ed, pushing his shoulder into Ed’s chest, still gasping, his eyes wide. Ed finally caught up to speed and noticed Oswald was trying to grab his own leg.

“I don’t—hah—I don’t know what I did, terribly sorry,” Oswald hissed out, hunching over to grip his own thigh.

Ed fell out of their embrace and tumbled to his knees, all his focus now on Oswald’s pain. He ran his fingers over Oswald’s, looking up hopelessly, unsure what to do to help.

“Oswald, I am so sorry,” he croaked. “I never meant to—”

Oswald stared at him, straight down into Ed’s eyes, a heavy hand on his shoulder still for balance, pausing for a moment.

“As much as I am,” he swallowed thickly, “enjoying your enthusiasm and,” he waved a hand, eyes distant, “general… _demeanor_ right now, if you don’t get back up here and ignore this—you know I already struggle with it everyday—I swear, Edward, I will _not_ be responsible for what that pent up frustration will cause me to—”

Ed sprung back on his feet, cutting off Oswald’s rapid-fire tirade by kissing him silent, cradling his face in both his hands. How long he’d envisioned doing that, how many times a day he’d fantasized about it, recently.

“Oswald,” he broke off, brushing a stray piece of fringe out of his face, “take a breath.”

Oswald’s fist wrapped back in Ed’s clothes (now wrinkled past the point of no return, he noticed uselessly) and he yanked Ed forward as he took a step back. Ed wobbled and lurched forward, lost as to the purpose of this, confused at the look of conviction and persistence tensed in every muscle of Oswald’s face, until he realized Oswald was dragging him back to his bed.

 _I think this is called manhandling_ , Ed mused to himself as Oswald threw himself backwards onto the center of the bed, his face searing with pain again as he gripped his leg, shifting it until it stopped hurting him so much and simultaneously pulling Ed on top of him with the hand still wrinkling his vest beyond saving. Ed’s long limbs escaped his control and he landed in a heap; he was always a klutz, how embarrassing—

Oswald pressed his mouth back to Ed’s, shifting under him as he took charge of their kissing, and Ed immediately forgot all about his embarrassment.

Ed broke off after a moment, still trying to arrange himself, his mind swimming. “I am a gift beyond measure, a matter of course,” he recited on automatic, skipping lines, his breath impossible to catch, “I am given with pleasure, when taken by force. What am—”

“Absolutely not now, Ed,” Oswald warned, silencing Ed with his fingertips pressed to his lips.

There was something so _comforting_ about the feeling of Oswald’s fingers pressed against him like that. Ed shuddered, slowly mouthing against them; he could feel the grooves in Oswald’s fingerprints, the callouses, a ridge that felt like an old scar along the tip of his index finger, at the corner of Ed’s lips. Sliding his lips down Oswald’s hand, he reached out to hold Oswald’s arm in place, careful to not press the fabric out of its pristine shape.

Turning Oswald’s hand over, he ghosted his open mouth down the back of his skin, breathing hot and wet as he slid his lips across Oswald’s knuckles, along each bone, down to where they met at the base of his wrist. Lost in the satisfaction of his favorite form of tactile sensation, he kept his eyes closed as he sat down on Oswald’s lap, while he ran his other hand down the sleeve of the woven, brocade pattern of Oswald’s coat, studying it.

“Edward,” Oswald breathed, grasping his hip tightly with his free hand.

Ed turned Oswald’s hand over, his lip catching and drifting over Oswald’s shirt sleeve, making him tremble. He licked the bottom of Oswald’s palm, near the base of his thumb, and slowly swept up and across his open hand, tongue flat. Oswald bucked his hips up at that, jarring Ed.

“Oh my,” he murmured. _That_ was a feeling Ed wasn’t expecting. He needed Oswald to do it again.

Finally meeting his eyes, Ed sank down around Oswald’s first two fingers, sucking them into his mouth, watching Oswald’s reaction through hooded eyes. Oswald hissed, groaning as he thrust back into Ed again, grinding Ed down onto him at the same time.

Ed started to feel fuzzy, unfocused, veering on blinking out mentally, but in the most pleasant of ways. He jerked down on Oswald in return, tasting his fingers in his open mouth as he moaned.

“I wondered about this, too,” he babbled, letting Oswald’s fingers drop but still holding his arm, as they concentrated on this new reciprocal motion. “Thought so much about it,” he confessed without thinking.

Oswald rocked into him steadily, making Ed bounce up and down with the force of it, too disoriented to steady himself, too enthralled to care.

“About what, Ed,” Oswald asked flatly, rutting into him with his head tipped back, mouth open and eyes closed. “About this?” he punctuated his point with a forceful jolt up.

“Oh _god_ ,” Ed couldn’t help but finally curse, his eyes snapping shut, too. “Yes,” he confirmed, swaying. “This, too.”

“What else,” Oswald sounded like he was demanding, even though his voice was ragged.

Ed scrunched his eyes shut, too embarrassed to answer.

“Tell me, Ed,” Oswald asked again, digging his nails into Ed’s thigh as he struggled to catch his breath. “Because I—I think of you, like this, o-on me, _under_ me, oh _god_ ,” he swallowed, panting, still driving into Ed, their pants creating a friction so good it was agonizing. “I think about you like this every _day_ , Ed. Every _night._ ”

Ed gasped, shuddering with the weight of Oswald’s admission. Tightening his hold on Oswald’s wrist, he let himself proceed freely. “I think about you putting your cufflinks on,” he revealed, voice broken, pushing Oswald’s hand against his face to shield him. “I replay how your hands move, _ahh_ , I think about…how _good_ they look,” he could come with just the thought of it, had fantasized about it to the point where his response was hardwired. It was the dirtiest thing he thought he’d ever envisioned, ever masturbated to, and he took pride in his vivid imagination, was sure he’d gotten off to much, much worse, but no, those motions set him afire like nothing else ever had. 

“Oh god, Ed,” Oswald gasped, moving Ed back and forth across his length.

“Sometimes I…I tie your tie for you, and you _thank me_ ,” and that thought alone did Ed in on an average night, alone in bed, but he had to keep going, Mr. Penguin— _Oswald_ —expected him to, “and then” he moaned helplessly, feeling Oswald tremble under him, “you…you _touch_ me, kiss me,” Ed blurted out. He wanted to lose his control intentionally at this point, to keep affecting Oswald like this, to keep following orders.

This might be his only chance.

With reverence, he bent down to Oswald’s hand again, kissing his knuckles softly. Shifting his focus, he bit the fabric of his dress shirt where it was pressed together. Moving forward, he caught Oswald’s cufflink between his lips, rolling the sharp metal and jewel across the sensitive skin of his mouth. Oswald kept moving Ed by his hips as Ed kissed, licked the umbrella embroidery on Oswald’s cuff, the preeminent symbol of all that Oswald was, the representation of his poised regality over all of Gotham: power and success and respect and that _presence_ —

Oswald spasmed, bouncing Ed a few more times as he rode out his orgasm. Ed stared blankly, amazed that he of all people would have been witness to—Oswald shoved his hand into Ed’s pants, gripping him firmly, stroking quickly, and Ed dropped Oswald’s hand in shock, moaning as Oswald started to bring him to orgasm with the same decisive swiftness he carried out every moment of his with, watching Ed’s face intently, locking eyes with him for one searing moment.

Pulling Ed forward again by the tie, Oswald surged up to kiss him again, this time in such an intimate, desperate way, Ed felt like he’d never understood _craving_ until he sank into Oswald’s kiss. He sobbed into Oswald’s mouth, clutching to his shoulders as his hips jerked while he came undone, still rocking into Oswald’s hand subconsciously, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Oswald flopped onto his back, dragging Ed down with him to lay him across his chest, a protective hand splayed across his back. Ed tucked his chin into the crook of Oswald’s shoulder, careful to not crush his glasses into Oswald’s face, his eyes still watering from sensation overload. He had no conscious thought other than that, as he sunk into Oswald’s embrace, Oswald stroking his back with the same gentleness he gave his wrist before. Ed let himself drop into the moment, the warmth, to simply disconnect.

Some time later—Ed had no idea how long—Oswald laughed softly.

“I need a cigarette,” he said.

“Me too,” Ed answered automatically.

“You _smoke_?” Oswald asked, incredulous.

“I used to,” Ed admitted. “So did you—’used to’—I could _smell_ it on you the last week.”

Oswald laughed again, and Ed smiled at the sound. It was a good laugh. He knew Oswald’s laughs.

“I’ve had a _very_ stressful week, Edward,” he admonished playfully. “Not the least because of your behavior!”

Ed finally lifted his head to look at Oswald. “Surely I’ve made it up to you by now,” he questioned, serious in tone.

Oswald didn’t answer him; his eyes twinkled as he smiled, before pulling Ed into another kiss, slow and sweet.

Ed understood the intent of that, as he stroked Oswald’s hair back. He knew where Oswald kept the cigarettes; rather, where Oswald _thought_ he’d hidden his old pack of cigarettes ‘no one’ knew about. He’d go get them, in a minute. He’d started carrying a lighter when he noticed Oswald started smoking, just in case he didn’t have one….

They could share another private moment together before redressing and going out to face the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, [look](http://mynameisjohnsilver.tumblr.com/post/155392308397/picking-fluff-out-of-a-mans-jacket-is-a-gesture). I can't really blame Ed. Once someone pointed it out to me, it was hard to not take notice, as well. Interesting skill.
> 
> I'm in the meta-writing business, primarily. It's my job to study canon to the most minute levels. I can see where Ed's eyes are tracking in those gifs. I noticed what he's noticing. Of course there's lint there. What a brilliant subversive tactic. If I get more sarcastic, I will forget what else I needed to say. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Stay positive, friends.


End file.
